A Familiar Wound
The doctors slit your belly
To get to your spine
And cushion the disks
That slipped from you
Like soapy plates
From frail worn hands.
I was ten when you asked me
To wipe the stitched opening
With swabs and gauze
and to make sure that
The staples would not pop
From their place, exposing you.
I bent down next to you,
My knees denting craters
Into the carpet, and cleaned off
The stapled wound running
Perpendicular to the scar
That opened up years before
To place me in your arms and hear you
Whisper my name into being.
The pills slurred your words,
Your tongue undulating lazily
Heavily weighted in your mouth,
Rolling out gracias mijo
And I blushed, realizing
What a small gesture this was
Nursing the same belly
That held me inside years ago.